Two Dawns in Oria

The morning came slow, as if the sun itself hesitated to rise over Oria.

Koda sat at the edge of the orphanage's rooftop, legs dangling, the wind just strong enough to stir his dark hair. The first hints of dawn peeled over the horizon, casting amber light across the crooked rooftops and winding alleys of the slums. Oria, for all its cracks and soot, still caught fire in the early light—rooftops like rusted gold, chimneys bleeding warmth into the cool air.

Below, the city stirred with its usual murmur. Vendors dragging carts. Children with nowhere to be already running barefoot across the broken cobblestone. The stench of fish oil, warm bread, and smoke layered the air—an ordinary perfume of survival.

But to Koda, the world now shimmered ever so slightly out of sync.

The shard. The window. The skill grid still flickering quietly, like a question held in a lover's breath.

He tucked it away for now. There was something more immediate to treasure.

Maia.

He found her in the courtyard, seated on the old stone bench beneath the flowering canopy tree. The petals had begun to fall with the change in season—soft, sky-colored blossoms that stuck to her borrowed cloak and tangled in her hair like stars in twilight.

She looked up as he approached, and smiled.

It was a smile that had followed him since childhood. A little crooked at one corner, always warmer than it should be. A balm against every bruise he carried.

"You're up early," she said, brushing a petal from her lap.

"I couldn't sleep," Koda replied, easing down beside her. "Didn't want to waste a second."

She didn't ask why. She didn't need to.

They sat for a while in silence. Letting the wind speak between them. Letting the scent of dew-damp stone and blooming bark sink deep.

"I'm scared," she said at last. Her voice was steady, but soft. "I've always wanted to leave, to become something. But it's not the way I thought it would be."

"You'll do more than become something," Koda said. "You'll become someone they remember."

She chuckled, brushing her dirty-blonde hair behind her ear. "That sounds like something the matron would say."

He shrugged, glancing toward the horizon. "Maybe I'm just getting old."

"You're not even actually eighteen yet."

"Only a few days away."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Then I guess I'll be the one getting old soon enough."

Koda smiled, quiet and distant.

They spent the rest of the day wandering through the outer ring, visiting the old haunts. The cracked fountain near the bakery that still sputtered at noon. The wall they used to race to the top of, trying to catch the sun. The hidden alcove behind the grain mill where Maia once swore she'd build a home someday.

Everywhere they went, people waved. Some stared a little longer now—Maia in her Holy Mother robes, Koda trailing just behind. There was warmth, admiration. And an undercurrent of pity.

They knew.

Everyone knew he hadn't awakened. Not properly. Not in a way that counted.

Still, none said it. Not aloud.

That night, the two of them sat beneath the old bridge where Koda had once hidden, their breath curling in the cold. She leaned against him again, as if no time had passed at all.

He told her stories.

Of what it would be like if they built their own orphanage someday—one with real windows and clean beds. One with teachers who smiled and never forgot names. One where no one felt left behind.

She smiled. She didn't cry.

She was always stronger than she looked.

And Koda felt something burning behind his ribs—a wordless vow. That she would never have to face this world alone. Not while he still breathed.

--------

The sun rose cold on the morning Maia was set to leave.

A low mist hung over Oria's outer ring, catching in the slanted rooftops and clinging to the cobbled roads like the city itself had drawn a breath and forgotten how to exhale. Everything looked softer in that pale blue hour, as if time had dulled its edge for a while.

Koda stood by the gate at the edge of the orphanage, hands in his pockets, back straight despite the weight in his chest. Maia was only a few steps away, her cloak tied tightly around her narrow shoulders, the white and pale jade of the Holy Mother's emblem gleaming faintly in the haze. Her bag was small—just enough for the two-year training. Everything else would be provided once she arrived at the temple quarters.

The matron stood behind her, flanked by the children, who whispered nervously in a huddle. No one wanted to say goodbye first.

Koda kept his eyes on Maia.

She turned to him at last. Her hair was neatly braided back, her cheeks slightly flushed in the cold. She looked stronger today. Or maybe she was trying to.

"You'll take care of them," she said softly. "Won't you?"

Koda nodded. "Of course."

"And you'll keep training?"

He smiled a little. "Every day. Just don't come back expecting to be better than me."

Her laugh was sudden, warm, but faded quickly into a more uncertain quiet. Her hand reached out, fingers brushing his, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. A touch that said everything they wouldn't speak aloud.

"Two years isn't forever," she whispered.

Koda looked at her, eyes steady but soft. "No. But don't forget me in the meantime."

"I couldn't even if I tried."

Then, she turned.

And the road took her.

The children waved. The matron held her hand to her heart. Koda didn't move until the last edge of her cloak vanished around the bend in the mist.

And then it was just him again.

⸻

The rest of the morning passed in fragments.

A few chores. A few words exchanged. The matron watched him closely, as if trying to read something deeper in his silence, but she said nothing. She trusted him. That somehow made the silence worse.

By midday, Koda stood alone in the old garden out back, the winter blooms already wilting.

His fingers twitched. The memory of the shard—of the stillness when it vanished into his skin—lingered like a second heartbeat.

The Order… the skill window… the error.

None of it made sense. But he had a direction.

He sat down on the garden's edge, legs crossed, and summoned his status.

—-—-

Koda of the Eternal Guide

Level 2

HP: 60 / 60

Mana: 60/60

Stamina: 60/60

Stats:

Strength: 6

Vitality: 6

Agility: 6

Intelligence: 6

Wisdom: 6

Endurance: 6

Traits:

Balance (Divine) – All stat increases apply equally to all attributes. Harmony is growth.

Skills:

[Blade of Conviction] – Active

Summon a weapon forged of pure will. The more clarity and purpose you hold, the stronger the blade. Willpower and Wisdom affect damage.

—-—-

He felt behind his ribs the echo of that goblin's last breath. The feel of his hand tightening around a broken chair leg. The instinct to protect.

That was a path. That was a beginning.

Still cross-legged in the dirt, he whispered:

"What now?"

No answer came. Just wind moving across the slums, carrying the faint tolling of the city's bells as they marked the hour.

Koda stood.

The Order had watched him. The shard had chosen him. The world was stirring. Something was coming.

He would train. He would dig.

And he would find out why.